


Chasing Rabbits

by thesweetpianowritingdownmylife



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Crack, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 10:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4056802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesweetpianowritingdownmylife/pseuds/thesweetpianowritingdownmylife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley gets kidnapped by one of Fisk's enemies, and when Fisk rescues him, Wesley is high as a kite. <br/>What will he say in this state that he normally wouldn't?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing Rabbits

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [追逐白兔](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4111495) by [Leorpion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leorpion/pseuds/Leorpion)



> Title from the song "Go Ask Alice"

The moment the door opened, Fisk and his men started shooting. He would have wanted to get a machine gun and completely waste everyone in the building, but he had to be careful. Wesley was somewhere inside (still alive, he hoped, he did not dare to think about the alternative) and the priority was taking him out safely. So he aimed carefully, staring at his targets directly before shooting them dead. When everyone they could see was down on the ground, Fisk rushed past his men, desperately looking for his assistant. He could hear him; he was crying. Oh god, he was crying, what had they _done_ to him? He located the source of the noise behind a locked door. He shot the lock and opened it, only to find Wesley curled up in a ball at the corner, sobbing his heart out. His suit was rumpled, but Fisk could see no traces of blood in it. He put the gun away and kneeled before the other man.

“Wesley?” Fisk asked, voice hushed. “Did they… are you hurt?”

Suddenly Wesley looked up at him with a terrified expression, as if he hadn’t realized that his employer was in the room until he had spoken. The next second, his face crumpled in extreme sadness, he covered his face with his hands and started crying even louder. Fisk felt chilled to the bone. He had never seen his usually stoic friend like this, not even the time he had been shot in the stomach while on an assignment. He got back on his feet and returned to the other room, where Francis was propping one of his surviving enemies into a sitting position against a wall.

“What the hell did you do to him?!” Fisk yelled. The man flinched in terror as the Kingpin approached him like a furious bull.

“I didn’t touch him! I didn’t…” he was interrupted by a powerful fist against his jaw. It was a miracle that it didn’t crack.

“This man knows no fear! And now he seems terrified! What. Did. You. DO?”

“We gave him something so that he wouldn’t give us more trouble! One of those pills over there!” He pointed at the table.

“Shit.” Fisk looked at the pills, bright orange, square and small. “What’s in them?” He demanded.

“Dude, hell if I know. It’s some new shit.” He flinched when Fisk came at him again. “It’s safe-ish! I don’t know, man, he shouldn’t have reacted like this. He’s just having a bad trip! I swear, we only gave him one, and he went very still, then he started sobbing and shit, so we locked him up there.”

Fisk punched him again, and this time the guy lost consciousness. “Take him to one of the cars. Keep him alive. I want to know who told him to take Wesley.” His men nodded and dragged the body away. “Francis, come with me.”

Wesley hadn’t moved an inch, but his heartbreaking sobs had subsided a little. After the reaction he had got last time, Fisk didn’t dare go near him, so he sent Francis instead.

The bodyguard slash chauffeur crouched next to Wesley’s shaking form. “Hey, James, it’s me.” The other man looked at him, and didn’t react much, so he assumed it was safe to continue. “Are you ok?” Wesley shook his head. “What’s the matter?”

“He… He’s going to… He’s…” He sounded terrified. Fisk, waiting just outside the room, felt his heart squeeze in his chest. “I fucked up. I fucked up, Francis, I…”

“They kidnapped you.” Francis reminded him, frowning. “Happens to the best of us, don’t sweat it.”

Wesley let out a whine. “Not that. I… they made me…”

“They gave you something, is that it?” The other man flinched. “They said you’re gonna be ok, you’re just having a bad trip. It will pass.”

“But he…” He was interrupted by his own hiccough. “He’s going to _fire_ me, Francis.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he started sobbing loudly again.

Francis looked towards the door, where Fisk’s face had poked in. Both of them had equally confused expressions. “What?”

“He said…” Wesley was struggling to talk between sobs. “I should not. Ever again. He said if I did… all over.” He covered his face again in despair. “I failed him. He’s going to fire me.”

“Fuck.” Fisk said from the door. It made some amount of sense now. Wesley had been a complete wreck when Fisk had first met him; living in the streets, with no future, addicted to heroin. He had potential, though, so Fisk had put him through rehab, given him a job and a place to live. However, he had warned him that if he ever got back into his addiction, if he ever smoked even a puff from a joint, Fisk would take everything back and leave him on the streets again. At the time, it had been just an extra motivation for the recovering addict to stay clean, but that comment was now coming back to bite Fisk in the ass.

He wouldn’t do that now, not after getting to know Wesley, not after becoming his friend. Wesley had to know that, right? Fisk was scared for a moment that this wasn’t just some drug-induced confusion, and that his employee really did think that he would cast him away so easily, without giving him a chance to explain.

He walked into the room slowly, keeping his distance. “Wesley.” He said calmly, wincing at the full body shudder that the man gave when hearing his voice. “I am not going to fire you.”

“W-Why not?” Wesley asked, his voice too high-pitched. “I…”

“Did you take that pill from your own volition?” Wesley shook his head. “It was not your fault.”

“But…”

“It was not your fault.” Fisk repeated firmly. “I know you care about… your job, too much, to do this. It’s ok.” He stood next to him. “Do you believe me?”

Wesley looked him in the eye for the first time. He was still crying, albeit more quietly. After a moment, he nodded.

“I trust you.” Fisk reassured him. “And I hope you trust me on this: what you’re feeling will pass soon. Let’s get you out of here, ok?”

Wesley nodded again and took the hand Fisk was offering him. He was shaking like a leaf, but he was smiling a little. “Thank you, sir.”

He didn’t let go of Fisk hand, and Fisk didn’t have the heart to let go of him, either. They walked out of the building and Wesley took a deep breath of fresh air. He seemed distracted by the way the light was reflected in one of the windows, and stared at it gaping for a few moments. Fisk was reminded sharply that, even though his panic attack had subsided, his assistant was still very much under the effects of some unknown drug, and would be for a few hours still. Wesley smiled at him brightly and leaned against him, burying his face on the crook of Fisk’s neck and sighing happily.

“Thank you for not firing me, sir.” He said contentedly, and he giggled.

“We have to get into the car.” Fisk reminded him, flustered at the close proximity, and tugged him towards the vehicle.

But Wesley refused to get in. “I want to go in the front with Francis!” He announced a bit giddy.

Fisk frowned. “Why?”

“I have to talk to him!” He stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and then he frowned. “And you can’t listen in.”

Fisk shook his head, amused. “All right, then.” He opened the front door for his friend, who quickly jumped in, and sat in the back as Francis started the car.

Almost as soon as they started moving, Wesley started talking.

“He’s so good to me.” He confided to Francis. “He always is, he has so much patience with me, always has. I probably wouldn’t be alive now if it wasn’t for him. Scratch that, I definitely would be six feet under. I’d have wasted away. He saved me.”

Fisk smiles a little, although he feels a little guilty for listening to it. He vowed to himself not to hold Wesley accountable for anything he said.

“You didn’t know me back then, Francis, but I was an idiot. I really don’t know how he saw past that.” Wesley sighed. “This thing they gave me… it’s the good stuff. I feel weightless. I feel like I’m floating on a cloud. Are you driving extra carefully? It feels like you’re driving extra carefully.”

“I’m not.” Francis replied in a tired voice.

“Oh. Ok. Must be the… thing. I don’t like it, though. I don’t need that anymore. And I…” He shuddered. “I was so scared, that I would lose him because of this. I overreacted, I see that now, but this thing is making my brain all mushy, and I truly believed he would send me away. You know, working for him is all the stimulation I need. Who would trade heroin for this? For him?”

Fisk felt a little warm at his friend’s words, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’m so lucky. I mean, have you _seen_ him?” Wesley gushed. “He’s so handsome.”

There was a moment of silence. Francis whipped his head around to look first at Wesley, then at Fisk. “What?”

“I know you’re straight, but you must have noticed.” He guffawed at Francis’ strangled noise of response. “He’s built like a closet. He’s so strong and _tall_. I know I’m also pretty tall, but I would climb that like…”

“Shut the fuck up!” Francis squealed in panic.

Wesley looked distraught. “Why? Are you homophobic? What a disappointment. I thought we were friends. I thought…”

“No. I know you’re not doing so well right now, but he’s right there, Wesley.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Wesley laughed. “I told him not to listen, it’s fine.”

Fisk was staring at the back of his friend’s head, eyes wide open. Even if he had not been listening, it would have been impossible for him not to hear Wesley. This was new information. Fisk had had some… thoughts. Fantasies, even. But he never had dared to hope that his employee found him even remotely attractive.

“I still don’t want to listen to you lusting over _our boss_!” Francis practically yelled.

“I love how big his hands are.” Wesley continued, unfazed. “I love how big he is. I bet he’s big _all over_.”

Fisk let out a choking noise and Francis yelped. “Please stop talking.” The driver pleaded.

Wesley didn’t. “And I really like his face, you know? I think he’s beautiful. I didn’t use to like bald men, but he’s different.” He sighs wistfully. “He’s a very singular man. So… misunderstood, I think. I understand him, though. I wish everyone saw him as I do, then our work would be so much easier! Everyone would just hand him things, and locations, and personnel, without asking any questions, because they would know that he knows what he’s doing, that he knows what’s best. Everyone would put their faith in him, and the world would be a better place for it. I just… I trust him. And I love how he thinks, how he plans. I love his passion, his ideals. I love him.”

Francis looked back at their boss to ask him for help, but Fisk wasn’t paying attention to him. He was looking at Wesley with the most heartbroken expression Francis had ever seen. Deciding he wasn’t going to be mixed up in this, Francis turned to look at the road, pulled over, and stopped the car.

“Go sit in the back, you’re distracting me.” He ordered.

Wesley shrugged and obeyed. He sat next to Fisk, who hadn’t been able to completely wipe out the awed and pained expression on his face, and gingerly took his hand.

“Hi again.” Wesley said, with a smile that he reserved for Fisk alone.

Fisk wanted to kiss him. He wanted to hold him close and tell him that he loved him back. He wanted it so much, but he restrained himself. Maybe Wesley was just delusional because of the drug. He sure as hell would be very embarrassed when he sobered up and found out all that he’d said in front of Fisk. And most importantly, Fisk would never, ever try and do anything with Wesley without having his full consent –which, in his current state, he couldn’t give. So he just smiled back, a little strained.

Wesley started on a tirade about Californian red wines that nobody else on the car could fully follow, and the rest of the ride had no more awkward moments. Francis dropped them at their building –Wesley lived in the apartment directly below Fisk’s– and drove away, hoping to find a bar and drink enough to bleach out the memories of that afternoon.

“I can’t remember if we have an elevator, but I hope we do, because I don’t think I can manage stairs right now.” Wesley commented casually.

“You look normal.” Fisk mused. “It’s only when you open your mouth that you behave strangely. How are you doing that?”

“I have a staggering amount of practice at not looking high.” Wesley answered sourly as they entered the elevator.

Fisk winced. “Right. Sorry.”

Wesley looked around when they stepped out on Fisk’s floor. “Don’t I live in the fifth?”

“Yes, you do. You’re staying with me tonight.” Fisk informed him, and he didn’t miss the brief spark of hope that appeared on the other’s eyes, before Wesley made himself stare at the ground as if it was the most interesting thing he had seen all week.

They entered the apartment and Wesley flopped down on the couch, saying he was a little dizzy. Knowing the man, Fisk estimated that the world must be dancing around his head if he complained about it.

“Do you want something to eat?” He offered.

Wesley shook his head. “I loathe refusing the opportunity to eat one of your delicious meals, but my stomach is feeling queasy. I don’t think I could keep it down.”

“Okay. I’ll prepare something, so if you change your mind, feel free to ask.”

He went to the kitchen and started making meatloaf. He wanted to keep it simple, so that he wouldn’t have to leave Wesley alone for long. After leaving it in the oven, he returned to the living room, only to find Wesley unconscious on the couch.

“James?!” Fisk ran to him and shook him. “Say something.”

“Eh?” Wesley opened his eyes. “What?”

Fisk breathed deeply, relieved. He might have overreacted, but he had no idea of the effects the drug could have. Following an impulse, he kissed Wesley’s forehead. “Are you okay?”

“Huh? Yes. Sorry.” He sat straight again, feeling self-conscious. “I’m very sleepy. Should I stay up? Or that’s just for concussions? I really want to sleep. In a bed, if possible.” He yawned.

“Of course.” Fisk said, and tugged him into a standing position. Then he led him towards his own bedroom. “Do you want me to fetch one of your pajamas from downstairs, or will you make do with one of mine?”

Wesley swallowed, looking tense for a moment, and then giggled. “I can get away with wearing one of yours, can’t I?”

“Yes?” Fisk frowned in confusion. “That’s why I offered? I don’t understand what…”

“One of yours is fine.” Wesley interrupted him with a smirk. “Sir.” He added, a bit chastised.

Fisk left the room while his friend changed, and took the chance to check the oven. The timer was still ticking; the food had most definitely not finished cooking.  When he returned to the bedroom, Wesley was already under the sheets and he had put his glasses on the bedside table, but he wasn’t asleep. He was looking around, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

“Why am I on your bed?” He asked, a little panicky.

Fisk sat next to him, his back against the headboard. “I want to keep an eye on you tonight. Make sure you’re safe.” He said, fondness dripping from his words.

He got a tired smile in return. “Sorry to be intruding, sir.”

“You’re not. Please, lay on your side.” Fisk didn’t want him to choke in his sleep if he happened to throw up.

Wesley obeyed, turning his whole body towards him and curling into a fetal position. They stayed in silence for a few minutes. Wesley seemed to be deep in thought.

“You can sleep now, if you want.” Fisk reminded him, and ran a hand affectionately through his friend’s hair. Wesley turned his head and kissed Fisk’s palm.

Fisk was petrified for a minute. Wesley was looking at him more decidedly now, and made a move to sit upright, when the timer made a shrill sound from the kitchen.

Fisk cleared his throat. “I’ll be right back.”

He jumped from the bed and practically ran away to the kitchen. He took the meatloaf out of the oven and put it in a Tupperware. He wasn’t feeling hungry anymore. He delayed it as much as he could, washing the utensils he had used in the sink and cleaning the counter thoroughly, but eventually he walked back to the bedroom. To his relief, Wesley had already fallen asleep. He settled in a chair with a book, readying himself to spend a long, sleepless night.

\--

It was every bit as bad as he had expected. Wesley woke up no less than five times, mostly from very vivid nightmares, often screaming his head off. Fisk ran to his side each time, and tried to bring him down from his panic. Wesley relaxed a bit when he recognized him, and asked him questions to help distinguish between reality and drug-induced dreams and hallucinations.

The fourth time Wesley woke up sobbing even more desperately than he had been that same afternoon. When Fisk approached him, Wesley gripped his arms and stared at his face wide-eyed.

“You… you were dead.” He explained once his breathing had got a little under control. “There was blood everywhere, and you were not responding, your eyes were open but you…” He snapped his eyes closed and shook his head, as if trying to get rid of the image.

“It was just a dream. Nothing more.” Fisk reassured him. He tried to pull away, but Wesley wouldn’t let him go.

“Please, just…” Wesley couldn’t bear to look him in the eye, focusing on his hands instead. “I’m sorry. Could you stay?” He asked in a whisper.

Fisk couldn’t deny him. He lay down next to him and wrapped his arms around him. Wesley sighed contentedly, and fell asleep shortly after. It took Fisk a bit longer than that, but it was 4am, and he hadn’t slept at all so far.

The fifth time Wesley woke up there were neither screams nor tears, but he flailed around enough to wake Fisk just before Wesley himself opened his eyes. Fisk sat back, giving the man his space, but Wesley seemed to be much less out of it than before.

“Are you feeling any better?” Fisk asked.

Wesley nodded. “I’d like some water, though.”

“Let me fetch it for you.”

Fisk filled a glass and came back to the bedroom to find Wesley, clad in Fisk’s oversized pajamas, next to an open window.

“I needed some fresh air, sorry.” Wesley explained as he took the glass. He drank avidly.

“No need to apologize. How are you?”

“My head is still spinning.” Wesley answered. “But I feel more like myself. Still a bit too reckless, perhaps. At least now I am semi-aware of it.”

“You should sleep more.” Fisk recommended. “You still look tired.”

Wesley nodded. “Will do.”

He returned the glass to Fisk, took a step forward, and kissed him. It was just a short press of lips, a peck. Wesley pulled back after two seconds, smiling smugly, and Fisk had to make use of all his self-control not to pull him flush against his body and kiss him back. _It wouldn’t be right_ , he thought.

“Good night, Wilson.” Wesley said as he got back into bed.

Fisk left the room, poured himself some whiskey, and sat at on the sofa, away from the living temptation sleeping on his bed, to wait for morning.

\--

Wesley slept until noon. Fisk had prepared him a sandwich, in case he woke up hungry, and left it on the bedside table.  He was just about to go check on him again, when Wesley came out the door without wearing his glasses, looking as if he had tasted something sour and pale as a ghost. Upon noticing Fisk, his expression turned a little fearful.

“Are you okay?” Fisk asked, walking up to him. He stopped at a safe distance when he saw Wesley flinch slightly. He felt his smile falter.

“I’m… no longer under the influence, I believe.” Wesley answered.

“Good. I’m still taking you to the doctor later,” Fisk informed him, “so he can look you over. I’ll make someone analyze the pills, see if there’s anything…” he hesitated, “anything you took back then in them. If there’ll be abstinence syndrome, or the urge to… go back to your bad habits.” Wesley audibly gulped at that. “And don’t worry, I wasn’t going to cast you away, if it happened, even if you chose to… I wouldn’t do that to you.” He finished lamely.

“Sir…” Wesley started, but was interrupted.

“It was just for motivation. I wouldn’t have done it, not after all this time. It’s important for me that you know that.” He clarified intensely. “You’re… indispensable for me, irreplaceable.”

Wesley looked at him with a mix of relief and sadness. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Fisk assured him. “You did nothing wrong, they just…”

“Not about that. I had no say in that.” He emphasized, even if he now knew there wouldn’t be any consequences if he had. “I’m sorry about what I did while I was high. I overstepped my boundaries, by a mile, and I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need, you weren’t…”

“I’m sorry about kissing you.” Wesley said in a rush.

His fists were clenched tightly and his jaw was set. Fisk noticed Wesley wasn’t going to play it off as a drugged lapse of judgment, or excuse himself in any way. He was bitterly bracing himself for rejection.

“Did you… did you mean everything you said in the car?” Fisk asked calmly.

Wesley seemed confused for a moment, until he remembered the scene from the previous afternoon. He closed his eyes in embarrassment and let out a little groan.

“Yes.” Wesley answered. “I should apologize for that as well. And to Francis, next time I see him.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me for anything.” Fisk said quietly.

“Sir?”

“I had no idea you felt that way. If I had…” Fisk sighed. “I’m the one who’s sorry. For not noticing.”

Wesley smiled, a little pained. “It’s okay, sir. You don’t have to be. I’m dealing with it.”

“But I want you.” Fisk stated bluntly.

“…Excuse me?”

“I want you in the same way you want me.” Fisk continued. “I respect and admire you and need you close.” He walked up to Wesley, who didn’t flinch this time, just looked at him wide-eyed, as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Will you have me?”

Wesley kissed him immediately, and it was a far cry from their previous kiss; it was passionate and desperate and angry, fueled by pent-up frustration and pining. Wesley tugged Fisk back into the bedroom and tried to undress him, but his employer stopped him.

“You’re still recovering. I don’t want to overstrain you.” He explained as they stopped kissing.

“I am perfectly fine.” Wesley growled with a commanding tone in his voice that Fisk had never heard. “I want you to take me right now.”

Fisk smiled at his enthusiasm and agreed. They tumbled onto the bed between kisses and made love for the first of many, many times.


End file.
